UrsAKaGan
by Fan of Mikey
Summary: After Ohio the boys head to Maine to investigate a source of brutal attacks. When they arrive, though, they quickly realize that it's not it's not something they've ever encountered before. Sam/Dean, language


**Title:** Urs-A-Ka-Gan  
**Rating:** R  
**Fandom:** Supernatural/Dark Tower  
**Disclaimer:** All Supernatural characters, recognizable settings and or themes belong to Eric Kripke, the CW, and others. All The Dark Tower characters, recognizable settings and or themes belong to Stephen King. I am in no way earning money or other profit from this fanfic.  
**Char/Pair:** Sam/Dean, others  
**Prompt:** None  
**Spoilers:** None. Set during season 3 of Supernatural but refers to nothing after _Sin City_  
**Warnings:** Wincest, language, violence  
**W/C:** 15,005

–

They're in Maine, forest full of trees that are tall, taller, _finally something bigger than you, Sammy_. It's a downtime between demons, a chance to get back to their roots and vanquish a good old fashioned boogeyman. Dean's been itching for a fight, something other than the Hail Marys and the In Nomine Patris. Something other than The Deal looming over his head.

After Ohio they'd driven around for a while, knocked out a few exorcisms, and Dean had done his best not to include Ruby in any of those. Tried to put the image of Sam bursting into the room and shooting Casey where she stood and the thought of Sam coming back not quite right out of his head. It's not easy.

He does it, but it's not easy, and he can't stop, can't slow down because any moment that he's idle the thoughts creep back up, and he finds himself looking at Sam like he doesn't know who his brother is anymore.

It's wild and _huge_, what they're after, bowling over trees like they're nothing and scaring the hell out of anyone who comes in contact with it. Some say bear; those who aren't afraid to label themselves as crazy cry monster. Dean doesn't know, but he sure as hell doesn't want to be underfoot when it comes a-callin'.

They've been searching since noon, spent the morning talking to witnesses and trying to make sense of just what they're here to hunt. It's hard getting a straight answer out of people who're scared. As much as he wants to forget about the demons for a while, he can't help but wonder if maybe they're wasting their time. If maybe it's not just a case of too much alcohol.

Sam's somewhere, an opposite direction with the order to call Dean as soon as he stumbles across anything. Not that they know what they're looking for, exactly, but anything out of the ordinary is a step in the right direction. The handful of people they talked to hadn't been in the same area, all reporting different locations in the woods where the thing had attacked them, so he and Sam are pretty much going in blind.

His cell phone rings and he switches the Glock he's carrying into his other hand before reaching into his pocket to pull it out.

"Yeah?"

"Keep walking straight," comes Sam's voice over the line, tinny, hushed , and Dean breaks out into a jog, phone still pressed to his ear. Sam doesn't sound like he's in trouble, in fact he sounds a little bit like he's in _awe_, but Dean has never been one to take chances when it comes to his brother.

"I'm not sure, but I don't think we're dealing with Winnie the Pooh here."

"Lions and tigers and - "

Dean breaks through the last line of trees a minute later and stumbles into what he can only describe as annihilation. It's hard to see in the dark, but the beam of his flashlight and strength of the moon are bright enough that he can get a general idea. There are trees down for possibly miles - as far as he can see, at least - ripped up straight from the roots and lying rotten in the dying grass. Sam stands in the middle, and when he spots Dean he slaps his phone shut and walks towards him.

"Holy shit," Dean says.

"Do you know of any bears that can do something like this?" Sam asks when he finally reaches Dean's side.

"Could be a demo crew? Maybe they're building some new yuppy condos," Dean provides, but even as the words leave his mouth he knows that can't be true.

"There are no tracks, plus they wouldn't just leave the trees like that."

Dean lets out a long breath and makes his way forward. The yellowed grass is thick and weeded, gets caught up on the toes of his boots as he walks, and he has to balance to keep from toppling over.

"There's gotta be some kind of explanation for it. Some kind of government thing, maybe? A testing site or somethin'."

"I don't know, maybe. But that doesn't explain the claims we've heard." Sam comes up beside him and squats to run his hand through the dying grass, prods at a nearby fallen tree. "You think a demon could do something like this?"

Dean doesn't know, and he tells Sam as much. "It's entirely possible, they're certainly strong enough, if pissed off, but what's here that a demon could possibly want? Let's go, do some research on the area. Should probably call up Bobby too, see what he knows."

Sam nods and straightens, brushes his hands along his jeans, and they turn to head back. They're almost at the border of the woods again when the ground suddenly shakes, and they stop short. It's a small vibration, maybe an aftershock of an aftershock from an earthquake. They flick off their flashlights and listen hard, but there's no sound. Whatever it is, it's coming from pretty far away.

Going in blind is a bad idea, especially with very little in the way of munitions. Dean grabs hold of Sam's arm and squeezes, steps forward and pulls Sam with him, _let's go before it gets closer_. He barely sees Sam nod again, and he lets his hand drop before starting forward.

Without his flashlight, it's darker than when he first stepped through the line of trees, and with his attention still focused on the rumbling from the ground, he doesn't see the large branch at his feet and trips. He throws his arms out in front to catch himself, but he still hits his knees pretty hard - they'll be bruised in the morning. His left hand lands on a fallen tree trunk, ends up in something sticky and gross.

"Shit, Dean, you okay?" Sam's hand comes down on his shoulder, and then he's shining his flashlight in Dean's eyes. Squinting against the beam, Dean looks down at his hand. When he pulls it back, long trails of _something_ come with it, and he makes a disgusted noise.

"Is that some kind of snot?" There's laughter in Sam's voice when he asks, and Dean glares at him. Heaving himself to his feet, he shakes the slime from his hand as best he can.

If he happens to wipe the rest on the back of his brother's jacket on the way back to the car, it's well deserved.

---

"Well, there's nothing in Dad's journal about demons possessing animals," Dean says as he closes the leather bound book with a sigh. "Doesn't make it impossible, though. Could be he just never heard of something like that."

"Yeah, I don't know. It would be a pretty smart move, wouldn't it? No one would ever suspect an innocent animal."

Dean grunts in acknowledgement as he swings his legs over the side of the bed and hauls himself to his feet, slipping on his shoes. His eyes burn a little from squinting at his father's handwriting for two hours (and _no_, he doesn't need glasses, thank you very much, _Sam_), and he's ready for a break.

The motel room is tinier than usual, but there's two beds with hideous covers and a table for Sam to spread his research over. Plus there's enough hot water for the both of them, if Dean's in a generous enough mood to share, that is. Beggars can't be choosers, anyway, as the saying goes.

"Going for food, any special requests?"

Sam absently waves his hand and doesn't bother looking up from his laptop. Dean knows he means _whatever_ and most likely _vegetables_, but he'll probably end up getting Sam something gross because it's his big brother duty. Though vegetables are pretty gross in Dean's opinion. Except onions.

The trip to the diner is uneventful, though he does manage to score free pie from the pretty waitress behind the counter. She's old enough to be his mother, but she's still a looker. He wonders absently how she ended up working in some crap diner somewhere when her looks alone could've gotten her anything, but it's none of his business. He's in no position to judge, either.

Sam's in the same spot when he wanders back into their motel room, bent over the table and scribbling away on some scrap of paper. Dean pushes the books and the laptop off the to the side, plops the plastic bag full of food down in their spot, and sits in the chair opposite his brother. Sam shoots him the bitchface, of course.

"You know, one of these days your face is going to get stuck like that," Dean tells him as he pulls the Styrofoam containers from the bag. Sam merely flips him off in answer and grabs the box Dean pushes towards him.

"Liver, Dean? When have you ever seen me eat liver?"

Dean shrugs before popping a piece of his own dinner into his mouth. The chicken practically melts, and he groans, "Dunno, Sam. You're always eating healthy crap like that: tofu, sprouts. Figured ya'd like it."

He tries to put on as innocent of a look as he can, but he knows he's failing, can't hide the smirk. Sam must not be in the mood to argue because he just frowns and reaches for the ketchup packets. Party pooper.

Dean stops him with a fork to the back of his hand before he can drench his food in ketchup, "You gonna eat those onions?"

Sam huffs, annoyed, but still picks up his box and scrapes the fried onions from atop his liver onto Dean's chicken. Dean grins up at him in thanks and doesn't even laugh when Sam makes disgusted noises as he finally tucks into his meal.

"So I found a couple of things while you were gone," Sam says once they've finished eating. Dean belches and Sam throws him a look as he sits back, patting his stomach and grinning. "Demon possession of animals is apparently not impossible. In early Christianity, Pope Saint Hilarius - " Sam pauses and grins a little as Dean snorts, because yeah.

"Anyway," he starts again, "he believed that animals could become possessed by demons just like humans." He reaches across the table and sifts through his notes, coming up with a printed sheet from some website. He pushes it towards Dean and continues while Dean reads the highlighted passage, "The Roman people also believed in animal possession, among other things."

Dean pushes the paper back towards Sam, then stands up and heads towards his duffel to start pulling out clothes. The case seems pretty cut and dry to him: find the bear, exorcise the bear ( and there's a sentence he'd never thought he'd ever think) and be done with it.

"Shouldn't take long then, right? We head out tomorrow to track the sucker down and put it out of its misery."

"Maybe," Sam says with a shrug. He's not completely convinced that a demon is what they're dealing with, Dean knows.

"Well, either way, man, we can't do anything else tonight. Going out there in the dark again would be suicide." Dean straightens and marches over to the bathroom. "I say tonight, we go out and have a good time. Or, at least, I'll have a good time, you can sit there all emo and watch." He shoots Sam a grin over his shoulder before slamming the bathroom door closed.

–

The bar isn't like the ones they usually frequent. This one is clean and in a new building between a sporting goods store and a bank. The floors are free of sawdust, the walls a dark wood paneling, and the menus more than just different kinds of drafts, offering everything from chicken wings to burgers or even freshly made pastas. The televisions scattered around are all set to various football games, and each one has a small group of men gathered around, some in colored jerseys and others still in their business suits. They're rowdy, but not overly loud or out of control, so they're probably safe from being tossed out on their ass.

The actual bar area is full, so Sam and Dean slide into a booth, the vinyl still intact and not sticky at all. Sam tells Dean it reminds him of the bars in California his friends would drag him out to when his excuse of studying no longer worked. To Dean's surprise, his brother doesn't sound upset about this. It is only - finally - a passing comment. It still strikes Dean with a pang of regret, though. With guilt.

Sam scans the drink menu as Dean looks around the bar, not giving a shit about the brands, only needing to know that they serve beer. The patrons aren't their usual fare, either. There's mostly middle-aged men and women, some on dates, some _looking_ for dates, and the occasional college kid who's going to wake up with one hell of a hangover and a story to _not_ tell the grandkids. It's all very tame and very boring.

On his second pass around the room, Dean's eyes land on a woman. She's sitting at the bar alone, nursing a glass of scotch. Long red hair frames her face, her head tilted down, one of her fingers traces the rim of her glass. He can't see much, but her profile is enough to get him interested. The skirt cut up to _there_ helps a little, too.

She must feel someone looking at her because she lifts her head and gazes around until finally settling on him. She's even prettier full on, pouty lips and blue eyes. She's definitely a knockout. He gives her a grin, cocky and sure because he could never really pull off sexy. She grins back.

Dean readies himself to stand, but Sam reaches out with his foot and kicks him in the shin. Dean growls at the pain and bends down to rub at his leg, and Sam gives him an apologetic shrug and mumbles sorry before putting the menu down and grinning up at the waitress who appears at their side.

After they order their beers and the waitress bounces away, Dean glances around the bar again, but the woman is nowhere to be seen. He purses his lips and looks at Sam, but his brother isn't paying any attention. He brought some notes with him, and they're spread out before him as he stares at them in concentration.

"What the hell was that?"

Sam looks up from his notes and around the bar, obviously trying to find what Dean could've been talking about, then turns back to him, confused. "What?"

"Why did you kick me like that? It _hurt_, and I was about to go have some fun."

Sam just shrugs again and goes back to his notes. Dean lets out a frustrated noise and glares at his brother until Sam looks up at him through his bangs.

"Look, I just don't think we have time for you to be fooling around. This is a serious case."

"There's always time for sex, Sam. Haven't I taught you anything?"

"Yeah, scratching makes it spread." Dean snorts, and Sam smiles over at him and continues, "This is a big deal, though, Dean. We still don't know what's going on, and I need your help. You can chase whatever tail you want when we're done, but for now can we just focus?"

Dean waves him away, but Sam knows he's won this round. The truth is, Dean thinks Sam doesn't really care whether he checks out of the case for a few hours. Sam's always been better at research anyway; Dean has the attention span of a five year old when it comes to the specifics of their investigations. He thinks Sam just wants to keep him close, now that they haven't got much time left. And if he's out with some girl that's less time that he's spending with Sam.

It isn't the first time Dean has gone out in search of a little action, and he can guarantee it won't be the last, but he can kind of understand where his brother is coming from. He certainly isn't going to ask though; there's probably a heartfelt conversation just brewing below the surface of his baby brother, and that's the last thing he wants.

Their beers come moments later, though, and Dean pushes the weirdness of his brother to the back of his mind and listens to Sam go on about the case instead. They spend the next few hours tucked away in the bar, having a few rounds. They never get entirely wasted, Dean will make sure that never happens again, but there's a pleasant buzz in his belly, and he's got good company.

Sam's going on about something or other, and Dean knows he should be listening because it's probably about the case, but instead he just watches the way his brother's lips move. Sam licks his lips a lot, and Dean counts each time he does. Five times in as many minutes, and Dean's transfixed by the little flash of tongue, pink and wet, and he really wants to lean over and capture it in his own mouth. Wants to know what exactly his brother tastes like.

He must be drunker than he thought. He stands quickly, knocking an empty bottle over, and he doesn't bother catching it, just balances himself on the table, dizzy from the blood that's left his brain and gone straight to his dick. He shouldn't be thinking about his brother like that; he definitely shouldn't be getting hard over it.

He coughs and turns his back on Sam, tosses a _be right back_ over his shoulder and stalks off towards the restrooms. He pushes open the wooden door with the little blue man on it and closes it with more force than is probably necessary before flipping the lock. He leans his head against it for a second, then turns to stand in front of the mirror. His eyes are red, shiny and glazed from the alcohol and something else he won't name.

Turning the faucet on, he lets the cold run until it's freezing, then splashes his face once, twice. The cold water hits his skin, and he bites back the yelp that threatens to escape. He stands there for a few moments longer, long enough to clear his head, but not too long or else Sam'll worry and come looking. Will start asking questions Dean doesn't want to and can't answer. He can't even answer his own questions right now.

His breathing returns to normal and his hard on is close to no longer obvious, so he turns the water off and dries his hands on his jeans, then unlocks the door and thrusts it open. A loud cheer goes up from one of the televisions as he rounds the corner, and he looks up just in time, catching himself before he plows into someone.

"Sorry," he says, hand coming up automatically to land on the young woman's arm. He grins a little when he sees that it's the woman from the bar earlier, the one who he may or may not have been keeping an eye out for the entire night. He hadn't seen her leave, but then he hadn't caught a glimpse of her since the first time, so he'd assumed she must've snuck out another way. He's pretty happy to see he was mistaken.

She looks up from digging through her purse, arm tense and blue eyes startled, but then she relaxes a little, like maybe she recognizes Dean from earlier too. She smiles back, and Dean lets go of her arm, coughs awkwardly before extending his hand for her to shake.

"Yeah, sorry about that," he apologizes again as she shakes his hand. Her lips part in a grin, revealing white, even teeth and _it's no problem_. Her hand is soft under his, and he holds it for far longer than is probably appropriate, but she doesn't pull away so he figures it's okay. Her nails are painted the same color as her dress, the same color as her lipstick. A deep red that he thinks would look just as nice wrapped around his -

"Hey."

Sam interrupts his train of thought before it can go anywhere good, before he can take her out back and show her just how awesome it can be, and he throws his brother an irritated glare. Sam just stands there, though, seemingly unaware of Dean's annoyance. Nothing unusual.

"Yeah, Sam?"

"Sorry to interrupt," Sam says, but Dean knows that he's anything but sorry. "But it's getting kind of late and we've got an early start."

He says all this, eyes never leaving Dean's, and Dean starts to shift under his gaze, Sam's eyes piercing and making Dean's blood pump faster as he thinks about earlier and Sam's lips. And _shit_.

Dean knows he should argue with Sam, tell his brother to take the keys and he'll see him later, but he doesn't want Sam mad at him. Not now, when there's so little time left anyway. He knows his brother will inevitably get angry with him before the end, but the less possible chance for arguments, the better.

He drops the woman's hand, apologizes again for nearly bumping into her, and then he's ushering Sam out of the bar and towards the Impala. Sam slumps against the passenger side, and Dean stops, stands in front of him. Sam is drunker than he thought, and that's never good.

Sam's more like their father than he likes to admit, really, more than _Dean_ likes to admit. They're both stubborn as hell and stuck in their ways, and they both think they're right even when they're not. When they get drunk, they both think about the things that went wrong, they retreat into themselves, and Dean's the one left dragging them out. He doesn't think it's fair.

Sam sighs and Dean turns to leave, but his brother grabs hold of his leather jacket and tugs until he falls forward, bangs his knee against the car. Sam huffs and his breath smells like beer, peanuts, and Sam, and Dean can see in his eyes where Sam thinks this is headed, but Dean can't allow it. Needs to head it off at the pass. Sam's hands snake their way up his sides, and Dean tries to push himself free, but Sam just clamps his thighs around Dean, hands reaching for his face.

"Dean," Sam says, and Dean turns his head away, can't look at his brother. Doesn't answer as Sam says his name again. Again.

He lets Sam manhandle him, though, and then he feels Sam's lips against his cheek, seeking. It's wet and uncoordinated, which Dean's thankful for. Not this, not yet. Certainly not here.

After a second of Sam mouthing at his cheek, Dean pushes hard, and Sam slumps back against the car, his arms falling away and back to his sides. Dean moves away, unlocks the door and shoves Sam inside.

He doesn't say a word to Sam all the way back to their room, but Sam seems content to just sit there quietly anyway, the bastard. Dean doesn't know what's going through his brother's head, and that's never good. Dean heaves a sigh, frustrated. There's so much going through his head right now he doesn't know where or how to begin sorting the thoughts.

Once they're inside the room, Sam tosses his bag onto the bed and strips out of his jacket, toeing out of his shoes and mumbling about going to take a shower. He leaves Dean standing there by the door wondering how the hell he managed to get cock-blocked by his brother twice in the same night.

---

The next day dawns too early for Dean, too bright. He groans loudly and sits up, swings his legs over the side of the bed and scrubs a hand over his face. He's got a headache, but it's not as bad as it could be, will most likely be gone within the hour. He looks around the room finally, and Sam's gone and so are the keys, but Dean figures he's just gone out for breakfast. Hopes. He could go for a large, strong coffee. Maybe some bacon.

He heaves up off the bed and stumbles the short distance to the bathroom, carpet rough under his feet. He doesn't think about the disgusting things that could be living on it, figures whatever it is won't ever compare to all of the things he's been covered in. Over the last couple of weeks alone.

He splashes a handful of warm water onto his face, doesn't bother shaving, and then slips into yesterday's jeans, tomorrow's T-Shirt. The room door slams closed, and Sam's voice greets him in the bathroom, smell of donuts and coffee strong.

Sam looks up when he comes out, nods, and Dean does the same. Winchester hello when it's too early in the morning, when there's too much awkward. He grabs one of the Styrofoam cups from the container and peels off the lid, inhales the steam and caffeine before taking a scalding sip. It's fixed just how he likes it, not black but not so much cream that it becomes coffee flavored milk. No sugar. If you can no longer taste the bean, then what's the point?

"Okay?" Dean asks, when he can no longer stand the silence.

Sam only nods, sits and chews, then swallows. Dean watches him over the rim of his cup, waiting. Sam never says anything, though, and Dean reaches out to grab a donut before his brother eats them all. Sam may like his healthy stuff, but he still eats a lot. And yet he calls Dean the pig.

They finish breakfast in silence, the only sound their swallows and Dean's moan when he takes a particularly good bite from a donut. Sam snorts at him, but Dean just flips him off because it was delicious. Dean's well aware that sometimes his food is porn. He's not ashamed.

After clearing the table, they head out to the car and Dean drives them back to the woods. Along the way, Sam fills him in on what he learned from his research. It's not much, but it's all they have to go on. The hardest part is going to be finding the bear and then not getting eaten. Dean figures that they should just spend the night there, assuming they don't find the thing during daylight hours. He hopes it doesn't sneak up on them while they're asleep, but if it's as big as everyone claims it is, they'll probably hear it anyway.

They climb from the car and unpack their stuff from the trunk, Dean grabbing every available weapon he thinks they'll need while Sam slips his pack onto his shoulders. Dean pats the trunk of the car and Sam rolls his eyes at him, then they set off into the woods. The trees are tall and dense, branches and leaves form a canopy over head. Dean looks up and watches as a bird circles, then lands. It flutters its wings a little and Dean's eyes track the white splotch until it lands just shy of Sam's right shoulder. He tries to hide the snort but fails.

"What?" Sam asks, looking over at him.

"Nothin' man, just y'know," Dean replies. He clears his throat and purses his lips before looking away from Sam and continues walking. "Never mind."

The forest has always kind of creeped Dean out. Hundreds of trees towering over you, looking exactly the same no matter which way you turn so you can't find your way out. Things scurrying around in the underbrush that you can't see. All of those old fairy tales, the ones dealing with wicked stepmothers and witches? Take place in the friggin' woods.

"Maybe we should just burn down the whole forest," he says. Sam's a little ways ahead of him, but he stops short at Dean's words and turns to look at him like he's lost his mind.

"What?"

"No, I mean it." Dean catches up with him and looks around them, maybe glares a little. "Trees are evil, man. I have one word for you Sammy: 'Wendigo'."

"You're crazy, Dean." Sam shakes his head and starts walking again, Dean following close behind. "We're not starting a forest fire."

They're quiet for a few minutes, the only sounds the chirping of the birds and the foliage rustling under their feet, their breath as they trek through the roughest parts coming in harsh pants. Sam's pulled ahead again, and Dean watches his ass shift beneath his jeans before shaking his head. He doesn't have time for the places those thoughts will lead.

They finally reach a small clearing a little farther than halfway in, and Sam stops to unhook his pack from his shoulders, then lets it drop to the ground. They'll rest for a minute, but they can't afford to stop for too long. Daylight is wasting. His brother pulls out a map, follows the lines with his finger, brow furrowed in concentration. Dean wanders off behind a tree to take a piss, Sam's eyes burning between his shoulder blades the whole way.

---

They start off again a few moments later, this time with Dean pulling the lead. He can hear every movement Sam makes from behind him; it's purposeful, careful. It's the same way Dean walks, and it strikes something in him that he taught Sammy to walk like that. That he taught Sammy to walk.

It's foolish to get sentimental, and he pushes the thought as far away as possible. He needs to keep his head on the case. Later when they're done maybe he'll drown his sorrows in some scotch, in some girl somewhere. Right now, he has to focus on the hunt and keeping Sam alive. The past and the months ahead don't matter now.

Hours later, it's starting to get dark, and they haven't gotten any closer to finding the thing than they were yesterday. Dean's tired of walking. He stops and turns to his brother, and Sam's standing there, looking around. He catches Dean's eye and quirks a brow, _here?_, and Dean nods. Here is as good a place as any.

Sam strips off his pack again. Dean follows suit and then sets about salting the perimeter around them while Sam sets up the rest of their supplies and unrolls their sleeping bags.

Dean's always hated camping out, sleeping on the hard, rocky ground and fighting bugs (and maybe he just hates all things nature). He'd rather sleep in his baby, tucked up tight in the backseat, knowing he could take the hell off if he needed to. But they haven't got a position pinpointed on the bear and don't know how long it will take to find the bastard, and it's better to be prepared.

He finishes salting the area and turns back to find Sam sitting on a fallen log and looking through his notes. Dean settles down next to him, dusting his hands on his jeans and watching Sam out of the corner of his eye.

"What?" Sam finally looks up after a minute and gives Dean a questioning glance.

"Nothin'," Dean replies, and Sam goes back to his research. "Just - how are we supposed to catch this thing?"

While they may hunt demons or other creatures of the night and the occasional crazy hick who strays too far from the mountains, they're not traditional hunters by any means. Wendigos and werewolves and psychos who didn't get enough hugs when they were kids are something else entirely. Even if the bear is harboring something they're used to, it's going to be one hell of a fight.

"I figure we treat it just like any other possession. Sketch out a devil's trap and lure it in somehow. Maybe you could be the bait."

Dean purses his lips and pretends to think about it for a second. "I am awfully tasty," he replies, and Sam grins. It's not as open as his smiles used to be, but it reaches his eyes, and that's enough for Dean. Sam bumps his shoulder with his own and looks back at the pile of papers in his lap.

"Seriously, though. I figure we make enough noise and the thing'll come to us. What's a four hundred pound bear, anyway?"

"Nothin' we can't handle," Dean says, even if he's still a little skeptical about their abilities. He hopes it doesn't have to come down to them hurting the bear in any way, but he'll do what he needs to in order to keep down the innocent victim death count.

They sit and talk about the case for a little while, about Bobby and random things from when they were kids. Dean sees it in Sam's eyes that he wants to talk about the end of his days, but he quickly avoids that topic. They've talked about it so much Dean's sick of it, is almost ready to go to hell just to avoid talking about it again. _Almost_.

Night draws nearer, and Dean wanders off to find some dry wood they can use to build a fire. The nights are colder now, and they'll need more warmth than their old , thin sleeping bags can provide.

And it's as close to a forest fire as Sam will allow Dean to get.

–

It's not as close to morning as Dean would like it to be when he's woken by Sam's large hand shaking him. He pulls his arm from the sleeping bag to ineffectually push him away, but Sam only shakes harder.

"Wake up, Dean!" he hisses quietly, urgently , and Dean's eyes snap open. It's still pretty dark, maybe somewhere around four in the morning , but Sam is outlined well enough that he can see the look on his brother's face.

He's on alert now and climbs the rest of the way out of the sleeping bag, searches the surrounding woods for whatever woke his brother, but he doesn't see anything, doesn't hear anything either.

"Sam, what - "

"Shhh!"

Dean stops and listens again, but there's still nothing. And then he feels it, slight at first, but after a minute of sitting still, it gets stronger. It's the same vibration they felt the last time they were here.

"You feel it?" Sam asks, and Dean nods, swallows thickly, then climbs up to his feet and grabs a gun.

"Start on the trap, I'm gonna go check it out."

"Dean, no. Are you crazy? You can't go out there alone." Sam gets to his feet too and puts a hand out to stop Dean, but Dean pulls away and throws his brother an annoyed look.

"I'm a big boy, Sammy. I can take care of myself," he replies. He grabs a flashlight too, not wanting to trip and land in something that'll prove Sam right. He nods to the bag of supplies that holds the spray paint and looks pointedly at Sam.

"Get to work. I'll be back."

Sam shouts after him to be careful as he picks his way through the woods. Straight ahead is the best direction to go in, and he does, hoping he's not going to get lost. He doesn't have plans on going too far in anyway. He's not stupid, he knows how easy it is to get disoriented, especially in the dark. He'd never hear the end of it from Sam, either.

He walks for maybe ten minutes, the vibrations getting stronger with each step he takes, and he hopes that if he has to, he'll be able to run back in the right direction. He makes sure to not swerve off his path, so he can about-face _just so_ when the time comes and it shouldn't be a problem.

There's a loud crashing noise, a splintering of wood from not too far ahead, and he stops to listen. Hears a roar that's louder than anything, louder than any sound that could come from a normal bear. He makes the decision to not go any further, but he does shout, hopes he's far enough in that Sam doesn't hear and come running to his rescue.

He stands there for a few more minutes, ready to give up and feeling foolish, when there's another crash, closer now, and he can actually see the tree fall and the others shake with the weight of whatever is passing through. Whatever it is, it's fucking huge, and they just might actually be in over their heads on this one.

It's when it finally breaks through the trees that he decides he doesn't care which direction he goes in, just as long as he gets the hell away from it. It's a bear, definitely. One that hasn't quite evolved into today's standards. But then again, he's never actually seen one up close before, so maybe that is normal.

The thing is at least twelve feet tall as it stands on its hind legs, front paws up. It growls, and the sound echoes around Dean, the breath from it almost knocking him back both by force and the smell. It snuffles, like it has a cold or allergies, and Dean realizes that whatever he landed in the other night came from it.

"That is sick."

The words escape before he can stop them, and the bear snaps its attention to Dean. Dean goes stiff, knows now what it means to be caught like a deer in the headlights, and he starts backing up slowly, hands up in defense like the bear cares. He hopes he has enough of a head start with the distance between them to get away from it, but the thing's got a longer stride than even Sammy, so he doubts it.

"Nice bear, you don't want to eat me… maybe a nice fish. Or, oh, how about a little annoying blonde demon, huh? She's feisty, probably makes for good flavor."

The bear howls again, but Dean doesn't stop to listen, takes the distraction as a sign to haul ass and does so. He doesn't care if it makes him a coward, the thing can eat him in one bite. He whips through the trees, the ground shaking beneath his feet as the bear lumbers after him. He can hear it grunting behind him, and his thoughts are momentarily taken over by those of hellhounds. He wonders if this is what they'll sound like. Snivels and growls that shoot goosebumps down your spine.

His lungs burn and exhaustion starts to take over, arms stinging from branches slapping against his bare skin, but he finally breaks through the trees. He yells for his brother, and Sam's head shoots up, eyes wide. He's got the trap sprayed out in front of him, large - hopefully large enough.

Dean stops, bends quickly to catch his breath and tries to tell Sam to prepare, to be ready. It's coming, and he won't like it. The bear snaps through the trees only seconds after Dean makes it to Sam's side, and his brother curses. It stops at the edge of the woods on all fours and lets out a yell.

It stops midway through, head reared back, and Dean throws Sam a look from the corner of his eye. The bear sneezes again, snot and bugs flying from its nose, landing on the ground to slick the grass, and Dean gags.

The two of them back up as the bear starts to move again, take giant steps behind them away from the trap. Sam starts his litany of Latin as the bear gets closer to the painted circle, but nothing happens. He talks louder; the bear steps closer and doesn't stop. The Latin doesn't affect it at all. Dean swears.

They turn and run back over to their stuff, grab what they can - the sleeping bags can stay. They hear the bear sneeze again and take it as an opportunity to get the hell out of Dodge. The sun is up now, shining bright, and they press on. Dean can hear the bear on his heels again, can feel its hot, moist breath on the back of his neck.

Sam's ahead of him, and he calls out, wants his brother to wait. Sam stops in his tracks and turns, aims the gun and fires, but Dean's already feeling the pain. The sharp slice of nails through flesh as the bear rips through his shoulder. He cries out but doesn't falter, keeps moving. The bear growls angrily behind him as it's hit with Sam's bullet, but Dean knows it's not dead and the bullet probably did little more than piss it off.

They make it all the way back to the car, the bear left behind somewhere, but they don't stop, don't take any chances. Dean can feel the blood seeping through his shirt, slipping down his back in rivulets. And when he slides into the car, it pulls the flesh, and he can't help but cry out in pain. Sam shoves him over to the passenger side as best he can, scolds him and then drives them back to the motel, shooting him worried glances the entire way.

---

"I can't leave my baby an orphan!"

"Dude, it's a _car_," Sam says, frustrated, while he tries to hold Dean down with one hand and clean out his cuts with the other. "And second, they're barely deep enough to require stitches, stop being a drama queen."

The cuts are mostly superficial, and they know how lucky Dean is. How lucky they both are. It could've been so much worse. The shirt's a lost cause, and there are some cuts that need stitches . After Dean has taken a few more swigs of whiskey to dull the pain, his brother sets about putting his brother back together again. His hands shake, and he tries to steady them before Dean sees. Dean sees anyway.

Sam finishes stitching up the last of the gashes and leans over to bite the thread loose. He pauses there a second, two, lips hovering over Dean's skin.

"You even so much as think about kissing it better and I will punch you in the face."

Sam huffs a laugh, straightens, tiny smile pulling the corners of his mouth. He gathers the remainder of the first aid kit in one hand and uses the other as leverage - a little pressure to Dean's back, base of the wounds still red and sore - and pushes himself up. Dean yelps in pain and half-heartedly swats at Sam's retreating, laughing, form.

"Wouldn't dream of it, Dean," he says.

Dean grunts and turns over to lie on his uninjured side, watches Sam stalk around the room and clean up the mess. His brother's body is set in a rigid line, angry and frustrated. Dean feels the same. The only way they knew how to kill that thing fell through, and now they're back at square one. They can't let it stay out there taking innocent lives, no matter how long it takes them to figure it out.

"I told you we should have set the woods on fire." He tries for funny, but it only comes out strained, pained. Sam smirks anyway before plopping into a chair and biting his thumbnail. It's a bad habit Dean's been trying to break him of since they were kids, but Sam's stubborn if nothing else.

"I don't get it, man," Sam says. "Why didn't it work?"

"I don't know, Sam," Dean replies as he tries to get comfortable. Those painkillers should be kicking in at any moment now. Hopefully. "Maybe the exorcism and trap don't work on animals. Maybe it's not even possessed."

"Maybe." Sam's got a faraway look in his eye now, probably running through everything he's ever learned to come up with the right answer. Out of the two of them, Sam's the one who gets the most aggravated when things don't go right. Blames himself.

"Why don't you call Bobby," Dean asks him around a yawn. "Maybe he knows somethin'."

Sam nods, mumbles a yeah, and Dean hears him shift around, start up the laptop. He falls asleep to the clicking of the keys.

---

Dean dreams about being in the woods, trees towering over him and blocking out the sky, darkening the ground so it's nothing but black. Howls echo through the trees all around him, broken only by the growl of a bear thundering behind him, shaking the earth beneath his feet as he tries to get away.

There's no escape, though, he knows that. He could keep running forever, but there would be no exit, only sharp cries and yowls. But then there's light, and he runs towards it, _freedom_, he thinks, and he should really should know better. In the lighted clearing stands Lilith. A child in pigtails and a blood-stained white dress, holding out her hand and smiling.

He wakes up drenched in sweat just as his dream self touches her fingers with his own. He's panting harshly, and he runs his hand through his soaked hair only to cry out in pain when it irritates his injured side. He really can't win.

"You okay?"

Sam startles him a bit, but he recovers, looks away from his brother's worried expression as he climbs from the bed to go splash some water onto his face.

"What'd Bobby have to say?" he calls from the bathroom. He grabs a towel and dries his face, then steps back into the room where Sam sits, watching him.

"Not much, actually. Nothing we don't already know, at least. There is a guy, though, uh," Sam pauses and flips through his black notebook, "Tower. Bobby said to give him a call, he might know more."

Dean nods and throws the towel off to the side before crawling back onto the bed. He doubts he'll get back to sleep, but he can pretend, close his eyes and even his breathing so that Sam doesn't get the urge to talk. He knows Sam is dying to ask him what he was dreaming about, but he doesn't want to think about it.

He lies there for a while, feigning sleep until he hears Sam stand, crack his back and set about darkening the room for the night. He doesn't know how long he's been out but, peeking through his squinted eyes, he can see it's pretty dark outside. The painkillers must have knocked him out for far longer than they usually do. It probably says a lot about how exhausted he's been, but he doesn't want to think about that either. He has to keep moving.

Sam lies down on his own bed, the springs squeaking under the weight of him. The minutes tick by, and finally his brother's breath slows into sleep. Dean lies there listening to him, his eyes growing heavy, and eventually sleep takes him over once again.

---

"Why can't we just call this guy, again?" Dean asks.

He woke up this morning in pain and grouchy. There had been no more dreams, but his sleep had still been fitful. There's no way he's going to take more painkillers and end up groggy, though. It's bad enough Sam forced him into the passenger side again, _You don't want to drive us into a ditch, do you, Dean?_

"Number Bobby gave me is out of service, and I couldn't find any Calvin Tower in the area, so…"

"So we have to drive all the way into New York City to maybe talk to some guy who might not even be there," he says matter-of-factly, irritated, and Sam sighs.

"Yeah, well, do you have any better ideas? Because I don't," he says, eyebrows furrowed and looking at Dean with annoyance. Dean doesn't have any either , and barks at Sam to keep his eyes on the road, instead.

They drive in silence for a while, Dean staring out the passenger side window, nothing but trees and the guardrail for him to look at as they cruise down the highways and turnpikes. He can feel Sam sneaking looks at him every once in a while, and his shoulder is starting to hurt again, every bump and roll in the road sending a twinge of pain down his back. Finally sick of the quiet, he reaches over and snaps on the radio, rocks out to Brian Johnson and WBLM all along the Maine coast until it fades to static.

---

Halfway through New York, Sam pulls over at a rest stop. He fills up the Impala before going into the small convenience store to grab some snacks and pay for the gas. While he's in there, Dean gets out and stretches his legs wanders over to the edge of the area where concrete meets trees and back again, leans against the car.

He knows the second Sam steps out of the convenience store, even though there's at least three other people in there, even though his gaze has been fixed on the ground - on the grease spot next to his left boot - since he got back to the car. Knows because it's his job, but also because it's _Sam_, and he's known everything about his brother since the second he was born. Knows he's probably got some kind of health drink for Dean and a bottle of water for himself, knows his footfalls as they thump across the concrete (leaves, carpet, or dry, brittle bones).

Knows that he's going to do something stupid before Dean's time is up to try and save him.

When Sam finally reaches his side, he leans against the Impala next to Dean, brown paper bag crinkling under his giant hands, and Dean can feel him staring. The scrutiny makes him itchy, flushed. Makes him want to scream, _what do you want from me, Sam?_ and leave me alone.

"Let's go," he says aloud.

"Wanna check your bandages first." Sam stops him and opens the passenger door to deposit the paper bag, bends to pull out some alcohol swabs and a new roll of gauze and tape. Dean tries not to stare at the way his shirt rides up, at the sliver of tanned skin that's exposed when he stretches across the console to grab the tape as it tries to roll away.

He follows Sam around the side of the convenience store to the little bathroom tucked away there. It's gross inside, but not anything you wouldn't expect in a roadside toilet. Dean makes sure to not touch anything anyway, just in case.

He strips out of his button down, handing it to Sam, and then removes his arm from his T-shirt sleeve. No need to take the entire thing off, the cuts don't go that far. Sam's fingers are careful when they remove the tape and bandages, but it still stings a little, the sticky tape getting caught in the hair on Dean's back. It feels better, though, once his brother applies the cool alcohol swabs to the hurt.

He's conscious of the way Sam presses up against him from behind, probably too close but not overly so, no more than would be appropriate for the job he's doing. Still, with the thoughts Dean's been having, any close contact with Sam that isn't part of the job is probably not a good idea. He can feel his blood start to heat under his skin, and he wants to push Sam away.

He coughs and closes his eyes, tries to think of something other than the hard line of his brother behind him, touching him. Within minutes Sam is done, his fingers giving one last push against the tape, and he leans away. Dean looks up and catches his brother in the mirror, fingers hovering over his shoulder and staring at it.

Dean coughs again and steps away from him, mumbles thanks and slips his shirts back on before stepping back into the fresh air, leaving his brother to clean up their mess. Needing to be alone for just a minute.

---

A few more hours in the car, and eventually the skyscrapers made of wood and leaves and roots turn into those made of glass and steel. They pull onto 2nd and 53rd in Brooklyn, the late afternoon sun glinting orange off the glass storefronts. Dean (having won a ten minute long argument with Sam about being capable of driving) swings the Impala expertly into a parking space, and they hop out. He feeds the meter quarters while Sam rummages through the glove compartment for some good IDs and then joins him on the sidewalk.

The Manhattan Restaurant of the Mind is the second to last storefront on the street. There are small, white wrought iron tables and chairs out front stacked with books of various sizes, paperbacks and hardbound. A paper sign flutters from the edge of one, weighted down by a heavy novel and scribbled on to read 5 for $1. He sees Sam scanning them quickly, and he wants to tell him to pick some out, but they don't really have time, wouldn't really go along with their covers. He pushes Sam into the store instead, makes a mental note to maybe stop off at some used bookstore when this is all finished and let Sammy go nuts.

The interior of the bookstore is set up like a restaurant, tables and chairs stacked full of books in no particular order. There's a counter in the middle, stools still intact from the bookstore's earlier days as an eatery, and Dean notices a coffee maker tucked away behind it, white ceramic mugs lined up next to it. There are books lined up there too, open and standing on end. These look newer than the others that are spread out all over the store, and when they get closer Dean can see it's a new horror bestseller. He jabs Sam in the ribs and snorts at the book.

"We can write friggin' circles around this guy with the stories we got," he says. Sam hmm's in response and then rings the tiny silver bell that sits on top of the counter to get the shopkeeper's attention.

Someone yells from the back that they'll be right up, and after a moment a young man walks out of the back, arms full of cardboard box. Dean figures it's probably filled with more books, and he wonders where he'll put them all - the store's already a mess with them. He looks to be about as old as Sam, blond hair cropped short and dull blue eyes set in a normal looking face. Not bad, but not anything to write home about. He's wearing slacks and a button down, and Dean thinks that it's a pretty weird outfit to choose to wear in a dusty store, but then again, he doesn't really care, either.

The guy sets the box down and dusts his hands off on his pants before coming over to the counter to greet them. When he gets closer, Dean sees his face is actually scarred a little, a white jagged line running from eye to nostril on his left side. It's pretty nasty, and he wonders how such a seemingly clean cut guy could get a scrape like that.

"What can I do for you guys?"

They reach into their pockets and extract their badges; probably should have changed into some suits before going in, but whatever. Feds have downtime too. "Agents Whelan and Hale. We were hoping to talk to Calvin Tower? We'd like to ask him a few questions."

"My grandfather died nineteen years ago," the guy says.

The word grandfather trips off his tongue like he's not used to saying it, and Dean knows it's more than just because it's been almost two decades. It's more likely the man was never actually his grandfather. Dean doesn't call him on it, though. He's not interested in why this guy is lying about his family. As long as he tells them the truth, Dean doesn't care what Tower's relationship to the man was.

"All right, maybe you can help us instead," Sam says, and the guy shrugs, crossing his arms. Sam takes out his notepad and a pen and flips to an empty page, and Dean wonders what he's got planned to ask.

"Was your grandfather ever in Maine?"

The guy shrugs a little, but nods. "Yeah, that - that's where he was from. I forget the name of the town, but yeah. He moved here in his twenties, bought this shop. Stayed until he died."

Dean narrows his eyes at him, but Sam continues, "Okay, uh. Did he ever mention anything about bear attacks?"

"Bear attacks. What does my grandfather have to do with this? "

"We're here to ask the questions, not you. Did he or not?" Dean barks.

The guy straightens, drops his arms and glares angrily at Dean, his eyes piercing, and Dean shivers a little with maybe-fear. Wonders why, wonders if maybe getting on this guy's bad side is the wrong idea. With his lightning-quick trigger from fine to pissed off.

"I was _six_ when my grandfather died. Had a heart attack right out front. I hardly ever saw him before he passed. He chose to spend all of his time here instead of with his family. How am I supposed to know anything? About bear attacks that went on three states away? I have no idea what he got up to. You can demand all you want, but I don't have any answers to give you. Now, are we done?"

Dean nods, still frustrated but conceding defeat. He doesn't think the guy is lying, though; he doesn't know anything and they just wasted a trip, wasted hours that they could've spent researching or talking to Bobby.

He turns and walks towards the door, hears Sam mumble a thanks before he follows Dean. They step back into the street, New York loud and alive around them. Dean holds a hand up over his eyes to block the sun as he looks up at Sam.

"Well, that was a waste of time, got any better ideas?"

Sam huffs and opens his mouth, probably to berate Dean, but he's interrupted by the guy from the store.

"Hey," he says as he steps up next to them. "Look, I don't have any answers but - I know a guy who may be able to help you. He's in Maine, actually." He hands Sam a piece of paper with a name and address on it in neat penmanship. "He was a friend of my grandfather's, he may be able to give you guys what you're looking for."

"Thank you," Sam replies. The guy nods, and as the turns to go back inside, Sam asks, "What's your name, in case we need to talk to you again?"

The man hesitates for a second, eyes downward and unfocused. Dean's not sure he's going to answer, but he does. He looks up again, face stony and sure as he looks between them when he says, "Chambers. Jake Chambers, but - you won't be needing me again."

He says it, conviction echoing along the streets of New York and Dean knows, without a doubt, they'll never see the man again.

–

"I feel like we're on a freakin' wild goose chase."

Dean's lost track of what day, what time it is. They'd hit Maine after having driven straight through again. His shoulder still throbs, but he's been through worse, not even that long ago, and he's learned to live with pain. Sam had demanded to check his sutures again, though, and that had cost them some time.

At their destination, Dean throws the car into park, and they climb out. The door's squeak drowns out the early night crickets for a few seconds, but then they're back, chirping loud and close.

The house in front of them is pretty run down, but not unlivable. It reminds him of a house they stayed in when they were younger, a fixer-upper, rent free if they did the fixing. Sam at sixteen was as full of as much angst as he is now, legs coltish and still growing. Stupid floppy hair falling into his eyes and angry at everything. Their dad rented the place after Dean talked him into staying in one town, letting Sammy have a year without interruptions. Giving him his normal so he wouldn't take off to find it somewhere else one day. It didn't quite work out the way he had hoped in the long run, but it was a good year.

They drove all night back to Maine, crashed hard for a few hours and then drove the rest of the way to Deepneau's house. Rumford, Maine isn't too far from where they were originally, and it strikes Dean, makes him feel weird. He doesn't think about it too hard, though. He reaches forward and rings the bell, it echoes back to them through thin walls. Dean looks around him, bends to peek through the curtains hanging over the windows by the front door. Sam punches him in the shoulder and he straightens, glares.

When the old man finally answers the door, he stands there, tall, hair gray and falling out, but he's stoic and sure, and Dean wonders if that's what Sam will look like when he's old. Hopes Sam makes it to be that old. He reaches into his pocket to pull out his ID badge, but Sam beats him to the punch. His brother holds out his hand and waits for the man to take it before introducing himself.

"Mr. Deepneau? I'm Sam Winchester, and this is my brother Dean." Dean shoots him a look, wondering why his brother is giving this guy their real names. They don't know him from Adam, don't know if they can trust him. The man frowns, but nods and steps back to let them in before turning and going down a small hallway.

"Figured you boys would show up soon enough. Or someone like you," he says. His voice echoes back to them as they step through the door and close it behind them. They follow Deepneau, Dean looking in the various rooms they pass - living room that's very well lived in, dining attached to that with a long wooden table piled high with books. It's not unlike Bobby's place, and Dean thinks maybe if the two men were to ever meet, they'd hit it off over the volumes alone. In front of them is a kitchen, bright and clean.

Deepneau turns right and into a small study. It's covered in books as well, scattered in piles around the room, floor to ceiling shelves filled to burst. In the center is a large wooden desk that's piled high with papers and a very modern looking computer. There are paintings on the wall, watercolors in vibrant reds, dark browns and blacks. The one closest to Dean looks to be of a large black, glass orb. Step a little closer, and he thinks he sees a rose.

"You let a lot of things outta that gate, boys."

Deepnau draws Dean's attention away from the painting, and he shoots Sam a look, but he only shrugs. Didn't really think it was common knowledge that they were the ones who opened the gate to hell. Deepneau must see their surprise, though, because he laughs a little. Though it lacks any humor.

"I may not be a hunter, but I do have friends who are. Word travels fast in our circle, you know, and there's a lot of folks who aren't very happy with the two of you right now."

Sam tenses and looks at Dean, quietly asking if they should take off. Dean knows Sam's had the want to steal him away and hide ever since he sold his soul. He would do the exact same thing for Sam. It wouldn't do any good, if the end comes, but he wants to keep Dean safe and alive, so Sam'll do just about anything. Dean's afraid of what that would mean for this guy, if he were to sell them out.

"I always wanted to be famous," Dean says.

"Shardik isn't possessed by a demon, though," Deepneau continues, unaffected by Dean's snark. "He's gone bad, he's sick and he's dying. He's never attacked people before. But, I guess, you go pokin' around something that ain't your business, you pay for it. Went up myself, not too long ago. Came back with a nice souvenir."

Deepneau rolls the sleeve of his shirt up to reveal four claw marks along his forearm, an angry, healing red. Still puffy enough to be recent, but on their way to fading fine. Nodding, he then reaches into his drawer and pulls out some heavy looking leather tome and flips through it, mumbling to himself.

"It's hard to explain, and it sounds crazy. When Calvin first told me, I thought... I don't know. I thought maybe his illness has gotten the better of him."

"What do you mean, illness? I thought he had a heart attack."

"That's how he died, yes. But he had something… in his bones, a cancer maybe. By the end, he could barely even get out of bed for the pain in his hips. It's hard. Watching someone go through that? Slowly dying, and there's nothing you can do about it. I'm almost glad the heart attack took him when it did."

Deepneau trails off and seems to escape into his mind for a second. His words hang heavy between Sam and Dean, and Dean tries not to look at his brother. He hates seeing the look in Sam's eyes these days. Hates seeing the promise there that he knows Sam can't keep.

He clears his throat to get the old man's attention again, because while he feels bad for the guy, they have a case to solve. "So this… Shardik? How are we supposed to stop it?"

Deepneau snaps out of his thoughts and looks at them for a moment. Sam offers a tight smile - his sympathy face, even though Dean thinks he doesn't quite mean it this time - and Deepneau looks away. "There's some things you should know first. Shardik isn't your average bear…"

Dean snorts and Sam shoots him a look, but Deepneau smiles, obviously aware of what he's said. "He's a guardian."

"A guardian of what?"

Deepneau holds up a finger to silence Dean before continuing, "No one knows exactly when he was created. There was a time when people had forgotten he existed. We go about our lives, and the world, for the most part, continues to spin without problems. But Calvin knew, he felt the quakes and he figured out what was going on.

"There are six beams, each meeting at a central point. These beams, they hold up the universe. All universes. And if the beams break, the central point - the tower that holds them all together - it breaks, too."

"And we go with it," Sam says, understanding.

Deepneau nods and flips through his book again, the swish-swish of pages the only noise in the quiet room for long minutes. "He's not the only one - there are others. Each end of the beam is guarded by a different animal. A turtle, hare, fish. You get the idea?"

"So, what? After we get rid of Pooh, we've gotta go after Tigger and Piglet, too?" Dean snarks.

Deepneau angrily closes the book and slams it down on his desk, causing both brothers to jump at the sudden noise . He glares at Dean. Dean has enough sense to look chastised as Deepneau rounds the desk to stand directly in front of them, rage still clear on his face and no barriers between them.

"You think this is funny? We're not just talking about the end of the world: this is bigger than that. We're talking every possible spec of a universe and everything, every_one_ in it. The least of your worries will be hell on earth because there will _be_ no earth. Now tell me how funny that is."

"Sorry," Dean mumbles in apology and shifts uncomfortably. "What are we supposed to do? We tried an exorcism and it didn't work. If we can't kill him, how are we supposed to stop him?"

"You _have to_ kill him," Deepneau says, and Dean begins to wonder if maybe he's not the one who's gone nuts.

"You just said if he dies, we all die, and now we're supposed to kill him? Look, no offense, dude, but I think you _are_ fucking crazy." Dean grabs Sam by the elbow and turns to leave the room, but Deepneau steps in front of him and blocks his exit.

"I told you it didn't make any sense, but you can't just walk out of here. If you do, things are gonna be a hell of a lot worse than you can even imagine. Hear me out."

Sam wrenches his arm free of Dean's grasp, and Dean turns to glare at him, but Sam just shoots him a look. He begs Dean to stay with his eyes, _what could it hurt, Dean?_ and Dean sighs.

"So how do we kill this thing?"

Deepneau nods slightly, and then he walks back to his desk again, picks up the book, and sits. Dean follows and takes the chair directly in front of the wooden monstrosity in the middle of the room. He's still convinced the guy is out of his fucking mind, but he'll hear him out for Sam's sake. Maybe he'll get a good laugh.

"Shardik, the others, they're said to be magic. That's what Calvin told me, at least. I haven't been stupid enough to go back and find out. There's a spell, though. Should bind him long enough, keep him still. Take him out, right between the eyes."

"But if we kill him, won't his end of the beam break?"

Deepneau nods again, sighs and rubs his hand over his face. Dean feels his suspicion fade a little. The guy looks like he believes what he's saying, and while that's a good sign of insanity, in their line of work it usually means the person is also telling the truth.

"It's better only him than all of them. You stop him, you figure out what's going on, then you can keep it from happening to the others. It can't all go down at once, it would raise too much suspicion. There are quakes. They started when Shardik first got sick, and they've only gotten greater and lasted longer. That's the beam breaking. My guess is this whole thing is being controlled by someone. You'd do best to find out who."

---

The clerk at the desk only looks at him a little funny when Dean goes in to rent another room at the same motel they'd been in before heading to New York. He peers around Dean to glance at Sam and smirks, but Dean doesn't have time to reply. He snatches the key from the guy's hand and glares at him after signing the credit card slip, makes sure the screen door bangs behind him as he leaves.

He stalks back to the car and drives them over to their room, kicks Sam out and tells him he'll be back. Whenever. Sam frowns but doesn't ask any questions even though Dean knows he's dying to, can practically see Sam biting his tongue. He throws the car into drive and kicks up gravel as he speeds away. He watches Sam in the rearview until he turns the corner and the motel is no longer in sight. He can just imagine the confused look in Sam's face, most likely mixed with annoyance because that's Sam.

He shouldn't be reacting this way to the clerk, he knows that. Doesn't know why he is. It's not the first time strangers have assumed he and Sam are more than friends, brothers. That they're partners in a different sense. But now there's something burning in his blood, a fire of want that makes the assumptions true, and he doesn't think it's anyone's damn business.

The rumbling in his belly jerks him from his thoughts, reminds him just how long it's been since he's actually eaten something. He'd just been intending to ride around for a while, but now he has a destination in mind. Convenience store will have to do for now, pick up some sandwiches and beer and call it a night.

He pulls into the lot of the one that looks the cleanest, looks like it'll have more than stale cupcakes and motor oil to choose from. The lights are bright, and once he steps inside it looks neat, modern. He gets a hot dog from the machine by the coffee, not even bothering with a bun, and makes his way to the coolers.

He grabs a couple of six-packs then backtracks to the chips. He's standing there debating on whether he wants barbecue or plain when there's a light tap to his shoulder and, looking up, he's surprised to see the woman from the bar.

"Well, hey there," he says, grinning. Hopes there are no hot dog bits stuck in his teeth.

"Hello, Dean. Nice to see you again." She smiles at him and looks between the chips and beer, back to his eyes. "That's not much of a meal." She trails a finger down his arm and Dean watches, red lacquer bright against the brown of his leather jacket. "What do you say you and I get outta here? Go back to my place, I'll cook you up something proper."

And Dean does like his women forward. Her finger stops at his wrist, rests there, and the heat of her seeps into his skin. She smells amazing. He wants to go home with her, he really does. He can almost tell what she tastes like, the kinds of noises she'd make, but then there's Sam. Whatever is going on with them, he needs to be there to figure it out, he can't take off with some woman… some gorgeous woman, until they do.

_Hell yes,_ he wants to say. "I would love to, really," he says instead. "But my brother's back at the motel, and he gets real cranky when he doesn't eat. I'll definitely take a rain check, though."

The woman pouts and steps back, looking about as let down as Dean feels. Freakin' Sam.

"That's too bad, Dean. I was really looking forward to it."

Dean wants to agree, but she doesn't give him the chance, turns on her heel and leaves the store without buying anything. Dean watches her go, growls lightly and goes to pay for the sandwiches he came for once she's out of sight. Then he goes back to the motel and tries not to kick Sam's ass.

---

They follow the same route they took the first time into the woods, get to the clearing they stayed the night at a lot faster this time around. They figure, wounded, the bear couldn't have gotten too far. Sam sets up the supplies they brought for the spell Deepneau gave them, and Dean is once again designated bait. He sets off towards the woods, Sam shouting after him to be careful.

It doesn't take him long to find Shardik. It's rummaging around a thicket of trees less than a quarter of a mile away from where Sam is, back to Dean. Its breathing is heavy, and Dean figures it's probably close to death anyway, its brown hair looking sharp to the touch, matted and dirty and glistening with sweat. Ugly. A bullet between the eyes would be a mercy.

"Hey!" he yells to get the bear's attention, steeling himself to turn and run, and the bear doesn't disappoint. It jerks its head up, catches sight of Dean through watery eyes and lets out a roar before charging.

The ground shakes beneath Dean's feet as he runs back to the clearing, strong vibrations that nearly send him ass over feet, but he manages to stay upright. He breaks through the line of trees after a short moment and shouts Sam's name. Sam stands there in a circle of candles and hex bags filled with nasty things, paper clutched in his hand.

His brother's voice carries over him, loud and sure. Dean's always been amazed at how good Sam is at Latin. He's had enough practice, sure, but so has Dean, and he's never been that articulate. Sam really gets into it, and Dean likes the way the words roll off his brother's tongue.

The last few words are in a language Dean's never heard before, and by the way Sam stutters over them Dean thinks he hasn't either. He hopes the fumbling doesn't mess up the spell.

"Can-tah," Sam says loudly, and Dean comes to a stop behind him. Then, "Khef-char, tah."

The ground stops shaking and the bear freezes mid-tracks, front paw raised and mouth open in a silent yell. He looks stuffed, like some hunter's prize kept on a pedestal, _that is freakin' awesome_. Sam chuckles and Dean steps forward, arm outstretched to poke.

"What are you doing?"

"I just want to see," he says, but Sam grabs his arm before he can get any closer.

"Dude, we don't know what could happen, stop it."

Dean frowns but lowers his arm, mumbles at Sam that he's no fun. His brother just rolls his eyes, though, and stuffs the spell into his pocket. When Sam turns to grab the Colt, Dean pokes the bear in the snout, his finger coming back covered in snot.

"Son of a bitch," he whispers and shakes the mess from his fingers.

"I told you not to touch it," Sam says.

"Whatever, let's just do this."

Sam hands Dean the colt, and Dean steps in front of the still bear. Up close, Dean can see a small mark on the bear's forehead, right between its eyes where Deepneau said to aim. It's half hidden by matted fur, but it's silver and round, and when Dean reaches out to move some of the fur out of the way, he'd swear it looks like a satellite.

"Hurry up, Dean. I don't know how long the spell will hold." Sam nudges him, and Dean backs up, takes aim. He feels kind of bad, shooting it while it's unable to defend itself, but he knows that if he were to let it go it would only tear him and Sam apart, then move on to some unsuspecting schmuck on a camp out.

When the bullet enters Shardik's head, it's almost like what happens with a demon. Electricity crackles through it, and the ground shakes so violently that it throws both him and Sam off balance, and they hit the ground hard. Dean panics for a second, wonders aloud if the bear had a friend, if they should haul ass.

"The beam's breaking, remember? Deepneau said when they break, it causes quakes," Sam says. "This is why they're taking them out one at a time."

When the shaking stops, there are fallen trees, cracks in the earth. Shardik still stands where Dean shot him. When they get up from the ground, Dean begins packing up their supplies, and Sam finishes up the spell, releasing the bear to fall where it stands.

"Can-Alleyo, laxo."

Shardik hits the ground at their feet, causing one final shake there in the clearing.

---

On the way out of town, Dean stops at the gas station. He leaves Sam in the passenger seat flipping through a pile of books they'd picked up at the town's library. They're not much, but Sam's happy enough with them, and that's what counts.

The bell above the door jingles as Dean enters the small building next to the pumps and rings the silver bell on the counter for service. While he waits, he skims the collection of skin mags that are for sale, frowning in disappointment when they're all issues he's seen before.

After a few minutes and a second tap to the bell, the clerk finally comes out, and it's certainly not who he was expecting.

"Hey there, Dean."

The woman from the bar steps up behind the counter and leans on the chipped Formica, arms folded out in front of her to push her breasts up and into his face. She's not exactly dressed for working in a gas station - they practically fall out of her top.

"Hey…" He trails off, frowning, and tries to remember if she ever actually told him who she was. She cocks her head, smiles at him and taps her red painted fingernails along the counter top, waiting patiently.

He thinks back to the other two times he ran into her, and he realizes that he never actually told her his name either. And then it hits him - he remembers Deepneau's words about someone possibly controlling Shardik. He quickly reaches for his gun, aims, levels it at her as she makes her way slowly around the counter.

"You and I both know that's not going to hurt me, Dean." She smirks at him and flicks her wrist, sends the gun flying across the store. It goes off on impact, and a second later he hears the Impala's door squeak open and closed. She turns her gaze towards the set of windows and watches, small smile playing on her lips.

Sam runs in seconds later, Colt in hand. He tosses it to Dean, and Dean wants to kiss his brother for always being one step ahead. He says Christo, just to be sure, and is rewarded with the demon's true colors.

"Well," she starts, "that can do a little more damage."

Dean smirks at her, finger trigger at the ready, and says, "Tell me what you know."

"I don't know anything, Dean."

"You don't know or you don't want to tell me?"

He steps forward, Colt still lowered, but he's lightning quick, can take her out within a second. All she has to do is give him a reason.

"Both. If I did know, you'd be the last person I would tell. Now your brother, on the other hand, I would tell him everything." The demon turns her gaze towards Sam, and Dean can feel his stomach tighten, his skin crawling.

He grabs her by the throat, and she chokes out a laugh. "Don't you even look at him!"

The demon rolls her eyes, and Dean tightens his grip on her throat in frustration, but that only makes her laugh again. It's high and crazy, and her eyes flick black. "You let a lot of things out of the gate besides demons, boys," she says with a grin, echoing Deepneau's words almost exactly. Dean hopes the old man is still safe, tucked away behind a book in his small, cluttered study. He hopes, but he doubts it.

"Things you couldn't even imagine. All things serve the beam and all things serve the king - you will too. Just you wait," she sing-songs.

"Stop fucking around and tell us," Dean snarls at her.

"We've all got our bosses, baby. You of all people know that: following Daddy around like a puppy on a leash." Her eyes flick back to their regular color, and she looks at Dean with fake sadness, pity. It makes him sick to his stomach. "And now Sam? You take orders from him and let him drag you around, and all the while you pretend. Because you're afraid of him, aren't you?"

"Shut up."

"It's okay to be scared, Dean. Your daddy was scared too."

"You don't know what you're talking about," Dean says to her. She bares her teeth at him in an imitation of a grin, and Dean sees now that she's not as pretty as he had thought she was. Her hair hangs limp, and her face is aged, scarred. He doesn't know what kind of a woman she was before the demon possessed her, and he knows that he won't get the chance to find out. Doesn't want to.

"If only you could've seen him, down there in Hell. And what you did? Such a nice way to say thank you for his sacrifice. Of course, you'll find out soon enough, won't you?"

Dean shoves her away, and she stumbles over her high heels, falls to the dirty gas station floor with a small grunt. Sam doesn't even try to stop Dean when he raises the Colt and aims.

"Go ahead and shoot me, Dean. It's not like it'll make a difference in the end. I'll still see you in Hell."

"You tell me how to stop this!" he shouts at her, but she isn't affected. She only grins up at him again, eyes black and empty, and doesn't say a word.

She stays quiet even when the gun explodes and the bullet enters her forehead.

---

Dean waits while Sam fills a gas can with fuel, and then runs it around to the front of the tiny building, where he tosses the red canister into the backseat of the Impala. Afterwards his brother stands next to him as he lights a match, flicks it and watches it light the gas and circle the building in a blinding ring of fire. The sound of the fire engines is what chases them out of town, and neither one of them looks back in the rear view.

Five miles outside of town, Dean pulls the car over to the side of the road, leans over the steering wheel and just laughs. They're in so far over their fucking heads there's no way they'll ever be able to get out, and he probably just sent their only hope of figuring it out back to hell without a second thought.

It should scare him, the lengths he just went to. Knows that it's exactly what Sam did in Ohio, the same thing that scared the shit out of him. He didn't even stop and consider the body the demon was inhabiting.

"Dude," Sam says and stops because Dean just laughs harder. When he finally quiets there are tears in his eyes, and Sam's looking at him like he's lost his damn mind. He probably has.

"Sorry, Sammy," he says and means it. He tries not to regret making the deal; he doesn't have room in his head for something like that, and it's too late, besides. But there are moments when he thinks about it, the things he didn't get to do, when he thinks about Sam being alone. Yeah, he regrets.

"Dean, what she said. I - "

"Not now, Sam."

Sam clenches his jaw and stares out the window, eyes shiny with tears, and Dean's still not in the mood for that chat, but Sam nods. Sam's never been one to give up on anything, and Dean knows he won't give up on their talk, knows that Sam won't give up on him, either. No matter how much Dean begs him to stop. He's stubborn, just like John and just like Dean. And Dean loves Sam for it.

Dean made the decision a long time ago, and now's a better time than any. They've got no one else, and he doesn't want anyone else, and he knows he's got regrets, but this? This won't be one of them.

He reaches across the seat and threads his fingers through the hair at the nape of his brother's neck, pulls and tugs until Sam looks at him, until Sam is bending towards him, and he presses their foreheads together. They stay like that for a moment, Dean closing his eyes and trying to even his breathing with Sam's.

It's the middle of the day on some highway in Maine, they've just slaughtered a bear, for God's sake, and he's about to kiss his brother. Maybe more, he hasn't thought that far ahead yet. When they leave, he doesn't know where they'll end up. Maybe Bobby's or maybe Washington. Somewhere in between or nowhere at all. There'll be no laying low, though. There's always going to be a fight for them.

He licks his lips and opens his eyes, blurry, but Sam is focused on Dean's mouth. Dean grins, cocky and sure because he could never pull off sexy, but it always works. Works now, too, on Sammy. Dean closes the distance that's left between them and kisses his brother, finally, proper, for the first time. It's not weird and it's not perfect, but it's them and it's everything he'd expected.

Sam moans against his mouth, and Dean feels his brother's tongue searching so he opens up for him. He knows whatever it is they're starting isn't going to be easy, but Dean's entire life has never been easy, and he's willing to make sacrifices. With Sam making those noises, clutching desperately at Dean's jacket, he thinks the choice has been made for him anyway. There's no backing out now, even if he wanted to. Which he doesn't.

They break apart after a few moments, and Dean smiles before turning the car back on, throwing her into drive and pulling back onto the road. He reaches over and turns on the radio, sings along to Paul Rogers while Sam settles in next to him and cracks open a paperback.

There's always going to be a fight for them. This they can have, though, for however long it's there for them.


End file.
